Oats called to his
father, who was at the "end" of the level with Nicols. At the same
moment the water forced a gap in the wall three feet long by about half
a foot wide, and burst in upon them with terrific violence. All turned
and fled. Oats and his son, with the captain and Nicols, made for the
nearest shaft--which was about eighty yards distant--and escaped, but
the brothers Batten and Oliver were thrown down and swept away. One
desperate effort was made by Oliver to outstrip the rushing stream; but
the candles had been blown out, and, not stooping sufficiently low, he
dashed his head against an overhanging rock, and fell. He retained
sufficient consciousness, however, to be aware that a desperate struggle
for life must be made, and, without knowing what he did, or at what he
aimed, he fought with the strength of a giant in thick darkness against
the chaotic flood; but his strength soon gave way, and in a few seconds
he became insensible.

That a terrible catastrophe had occurred was at once known to all the
men in the mine by the roar of the rushing water. In order that the
reader may clearly understand the situation, it is necessary to explain
that the accident occurred in one of the _upper_ levels, at or near its
extremity. At the same depth there were many of these underground
passages, running in various directions, and several miles in extent,
some of them being worked, but most of them old and used up--all the ore
having been extracted from them. At various depths below this level
other levels had been cut--also running in various directions, and of
several miles' extent. These successive levels were not only connected
and communicated with by the main shafts of the mine, but by "winzes" or
smaller shafts which connected level with level in many places. Some of
these were used as ladder-ways, but others had been cut merely for the
purpose of securing ventilation. In many parts of these lower levels
miners were at work--some, in following the course of promising lodes,
"stopeing," or cutting overhead, some cutting downwards, some "driving
ends" or extending the levels, and others sinking winzes to keep up the
ventilation as they pushed further and further from the shafts or
throats, down which flowed the life-giving air.

By all of these men the dreaded sounds above--which reached the
profounder depths with the muffled but deep-toned roar of a distant
storm--were well understood and well heard, for